


Just Barely Mist You

by orphan_account



Category: Newsies
Genre: Angst, Death, M/M, Sad, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 17:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16685722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The air is cold, but Spot doesn't mind. In fact he doesn't seem to mind anything at all (except for the pain of prostbite crawling up his fingers...)





	Just Barely Mist You

He sat in the cold mist quietly.

His breaths were laboured. His lungs felt like they were on fire, a dramatic contrast to the frigid air of whatever this place was. The fog was too thick, too grey for him to see through. He would have expected to feel afraid, or at the least worried. All he felt was an empty sort of anxiety; as if the breath of past anxiety was ligering in his empty shell of a soul. It was half-raining, or sprinkling, or whatever. He sighed, leaning backwards and catching drops of water in his mouth like a venus flytrap snapping around a fly. He was simply… unbothered. He hadn’t felt like this before, this detached nocholance. He knew that it was likely he’d die out here. His mouth snapped around a water droplet and he simply didn’t care.

He’d woken up here, or at least, that’s what the conclusion he’d reached. The place looked unfamiliar, like a still shot out of a landscape magazine. The air felt charged with a sinister sociopathy. He laughed at nothing, the musical sound like tinkling wind chimes shattering the silence. The laughter ended as abruptly as it started. He felt free here, like nothing mattered. His only wish is that the air wasn’t so icy. The cold sunk into his bones and burned in a way that only a deep cold can, making him slightly uncomfortable. He could see the blue of frostbite start to travel up his fingertips. It was a caribbean ocean of blue, swimming up his porcelain ams. He leaned back, and took his few remaining breaths.

Unbeknownst to him, his friend Racer was desperately searching the nearby forest for Spot. Where was he? Spot was lying there, unmoving and uncaring. He was the color of a caribbean ocean. Or a tragedy. He was an anonymous corpse, waiting for Racer to find him. Grimly, Racer tracked on. Towards the remains of Spot, and onward after that. “Spot? Is that you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-Da! Second work on AO3: done! This is my first work in this fandom, so tell me how I did. Kudos and comments fuel my cold dark soul...


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